Alcoholic
by ShadowedSword21
Summary: [After Civil War] Tony needs to sit down and think. Furthermore, Tony needs a drink. A certain individual disagrees with that behavior and sends a friend to do something about it. No pairings. No romance. Just... friends looking out for friends. Even if they just tried to kill each other. And Sass. Because of... well. How can you have Tony and Bucky in a story and not have sass?


**Just a little drabble I thought of. Blame tumblr, because they have some fantastic headcanons for this kind of thing and I love all of them. Plus it's good to take a little break every now and then.**

Tony was a lot of things. He was hotheaded, and he knew it. He was also an insomniac, and he was both glad of that fact, and hated it with every fiber in his being.

He swirled the shot of whiskey around in his off hand as he reexamined the newest prototype he was playing with. He hummed, picking up a screwdriver and nudging one of the bolts that held the circuitry in place. He was having trouble keeping it in place during tight flight maneuvers, yet he didn't want to solder it into place and risk damaging it.

He tossed the screwdriver to the side and knocked the shot back. He set the glass to the side as he picked up the component, twisting and turning it in his hands as he got up. He walked to the window of the room, looking out over New York's night lights.

It was well past midnight, and in truth he hadn't even noticed. Friday had given up on reminding him of the time, just like JARVIS had. He appreciated the effort, but it did little when the only thing that waited for him would be nightmares.

Nightmares and regrets.

He gritted his teeth, a snarl on his lips as he threw the part into the wall. It shattered, the delicately constructed pieces exploding and shooting around the room. The majority of it fell in a clump on the ground, a mess of circuits and wires. It sparked dully as Tony huffed, every muscle in his body tense.

"Damn." He muttered, turning away quickly as the lights flicked back on.

"Mr. Stark, are you alright?" Friday chimed in.

"No. I'm fine." Tony lied, crossing his arms as he tried to control his breathing.

"Very well."

The lights dimmed again, back to the level Tony prefered. He headed back to the table, picking up the bottle of whiskey and filling up the shot glass.

"Of all the damn things to do." He swore, thinking not of what he just ruined, but the friendship he just demolished.

Steve had been his friend. They fought together. Steve was always the moral compass, always the Mr. Goodie-Two-Shoes. And then he backs out of the most sensible agreement and runs off after his murderous best friend. Tony downed another shot, feeling the familiar burn and the resonating buzz.

Rhodey was doing better. Tony had improved the initial design on the legs, working to connect it on a neural level was difficult. It was one thing to do it corresponding to the muscles and have armor work with it in union. It was another to run the entire lower half of a suit using a handful of sensors and trying to connect them to correctly identify and act with Rhodey's nervous system.

He poured another shot.

"Those are bad for you."

He whipped around, the bottle flying from his hand as shock covered his features.

The figure caught the bottle in his right hand, putting his thumb over the top to keep the liquid inside. The other arm was missing, a stump where it had been. A mechanical replacement had been there, but Tony had ruined that as well.

Tony staggered back, thrusting his hand back towards the only other armor set in the room, Bones. It disassembled, shooting forward and coating Tony's arm.

The man stepped into the light, revealing himself fully. Bucky Barnes, the sole reason Steve left. He set the bottle on the table, giving Tony a sad look before he took a seat on the other side of the table.

Tony hesitated, even as the armor surged to cover his body. Bucky reached back, and the repulsors buzzed to life. They whined impatiently as the assassin set a pistol on the table. Bucky slid it to the center of the table before relaxing in the chair. Tony wasn't sure if he could call the posture relaxed though.

Bucky sat straight in the chair, his back ramrod straight. His hands were clasped in his lap, his head forward, eyes staring straight ahead. Tony slowly backed away, the helmet popping open. He stepped out of the suit, staring at the man for several long seconds.

"Why are you here?" He demanded.

"To mend some things." Bucky replied calmly. "And Steve wanted me to come, just in case you were wondering."

"So my nanny is checking up on me?" Tony snapped, his temper flaring as he picked up the shot.

"Steve is every one's nanny. He's been like that since he was born. The kid was dying of pneumonia and asking if I was alright with a black eye. Steve is like that." Bucky replied flatly.

Tony paused, considering the implications of Bucky's phrasing. Then he turned away, knocking the shot back.

"So what? Here to make amends and patch everything up? You're still a criminal. You still killed my parents. You still fucked up a lot of lives. Mine included."" Tony snarled sharply, slamming the glass down harshly on the table.

The assassin in front of him considered him for a while, a silence that burned at Tony's core. He hated silence. It was suspicious. It made him think. He preferred the full whine of machines and the constant hum of computers and electronics.

"Well?" Tony said, unable to take it for a moment longer.

Bucky got up, carefully walking around the table. His hand traces the wood of the table, but his eyes bore into Tony's.

"Mr. Stark. There are a lot of things I regret. And there are a lot of things that I can't change. I can't change the way I was programmed. I can't adjust my actions when…" he trailed off, looking away for a moment to gather himself. "When He, comes out." He looked back at Tony. "But what I can control is myself. In this moment. Right now. And that's all I have left."

"Of course. I'll just forgive you and welcome you. Hell I'll even spot you an arm and welcome you into the Avengers. That how this works?" Tony shot back, his voice full of venom and sarcasm.

The hand on the table turned to a fist as Bucky's passive expression turned to a snarl. "Listen you silver spooned punk." His voice a low rasp that made Tony's skin crawl and the pleasant buzz of alcohol suddenly not enough to keep him steady.

"Steve likes you. He really does. You're just about his only friend other than me. He trusts you. He trusts you enough to let you attempt to deal with his dark side. And that side is me. I was all he had until he went in that iceberg and you don't think it fucked him up when you, the son of a man he respected and a friend he just recently got, decided that he needed to kill me? There are lots of things that would have gone over better than that, including using the Tesseract for a power cell for your tin suits." Bucky finally stopped, taking a step back as Tony edged away.

"Why are you here?" Tony asked, fumbling for the bottle on the table.

Bucky was silent, his hand taking the bottle of Jack before Tony could.

"He said you were an alcoholic. Told me you'd be drinking pretty heavy after current events. He's busy right now, prepping something that will get me out of your hair for a while, and get him, out of my head." Bucky looked up at Tony sharply. "He asked me to check in on you, wanted to make sure you didn't drink yourself into a coma."

"So he sent the man who killed my parents to be my babysitter."

" So he sent the only man he could trust to check on the only other man he ever wanted to trust." The reply was flat, and icy.

Tony paused, thinking of the implications before he turned away, leaving Bucky in possession of his whiskey.

"What else."

"Wanted to ask about Rhodes."

"Tell him Rhodes is fine. Vision is having conniptions about it, stays in the room thinking. I'm working on new legs for him. Nervous system integration is difficult at best."

"And that's why he sent me." Bucky added.

Tony looked up sharply at that, narrowing his eyes at him. "What would you know about that kind of thing?" His tone was condescending, laced with fury and restrained rage.

"Do you honestly expect me to know nothing about the limb you so delicately removed from my body?" Bucky replied with the same amount of malice. "Just because I was brainwashed for years doesn't mean I didn't pick up something from that. I remember everything Tony. Every single detail about every single sin and monstrosity I've committed. I know a thing or two about hooking up circuits to nerves."

Tony was silent for a moment, staring at him. He clenched his jaw, slowly trailing his gaze down to the bottle in Bucky's hand. He swallowed, and suddnely felt an emotion he wasn't totally familiar with.

Guilt.

"Tell Steve…" He trailed off, finding the words insufficient even before he said them.

"If you're going to apologize." Bucky interrupted. "Don't."

Tony swallowed the words, feeling them slide down his throat, thick as molasses and hit his stomach like a cold lead brick.

"Give me a piece of paper. And I'll show you what Hydra did."

Paper. Did he even own paper? Shit. Did he even own a normal pen?

Still. He stepped back, his eyes on Bucky. The pistol was still on the table. Why the table? Why not on him? Tony followed that thought down the rabbit hole as he finally turned his back on him to fetch a pen and paper.

Bucky hadn't spoken a word until he set that pistol on the desk. Even before he's called Bones. Furthermore, he hadn't reached for it since. He'd caught the bottle. Taken the bottle actually. But he hadn't…

Where the **hell** did he put his pens?

"Friday?" He asked. "Where the hell are my pens?"

"Try the next drawer up sir."

Tony paused, chewing on his lip for a moment before he yanked the top drawer open. A dozen pens clattered out and onto the floor, joining the mess that had piles up. He picked up two, tucking them under his arm with the paper and clipboard he'd found. It was Bruce's clipboard, somehow left in the aftermath of… well. Everything.

He returned to the kitchen, dropping the pile of things onto the desk. Bucky glanced at him, the bottle still in his hand. He stared at Tony for a while, then gently set the bottle down on the table, picking up the pen and clipboard.

Tony snatched up the bottle, reaching for the shotglass on the table.

"Don't."

He froze, glanced over to see the Winter Soldier pouring over the clipboard. The pistol was still across the table. Where Tony had originally started. Instead of a deadly weapon, the winter soldier pointed the pen at him, giving him a sharp glare.

Tony wasn't sure if that was intimidating, disturbing or unsettingling. A little bit of both.

"Why?"

Bucky resumed his sketch. "Because it's bad for you."

"Did the big bad Winter Soldier just chastise me for drinking?"

"Did the playboy billionaire super genius really require an eighty year old man to act as his moral compass?"

Tony paused, giving Bucky a sour look. "You're not my friend you don't get to make that joke."

Bucky grunted, but didn't reply as he set one sheet to the side and started on another. Tony picked it up, skimming through the information.

A decent, if rough, sketch of his arm. How the plates aligned, the shift. Synthetic muscles… interesting. And that alloy… Hydra didn't skimp when it came to his arm it seemed. He could certainly do better, but not bad for a bunch of crazed Nazi bastards… Tony nodded, walking away with the page and heading to the fridge.

He opened the door, picking up a plastic bottle of prune juice and getting a cup. He didn't notice that Bucky had turned his attention to him until he got back to the table.

"What?" Tony frowned, giving him a sharp glare.

Bucky shook his head, finishing another page and sliding it over. He added a few more details onto the next, then set that with the second.

"That should get you started. Enough for you at least. Steve said you were pretty smart." Bucky got up from the table, taking the bottle of Jack with him.

"Hey that's mine." Tony stopped him, pointing at the bottle. He snapped his fingers, pursing his lips. "Gimme."

Bucky paused, examining the bottle before looking back at Tony. Then he shrugged, "Drinking is bad for you. Captain's orders." He strolled around the corner.

"Hey! Friday! Locked down that far door!"

Tony threw his seat back, running around the hall. Damn that man! That was a perfectly good bottle! He snatched the wall corner, hooking his fingers and swinging around. But found it empty. Nothing. The wall vents were in the ceiling. All bolts accounted for. No doors were open. Nothing out of place.

Except his missing bottle of jack.

Tony snarled, gritting his teeth and shaking his head as he returned to the table. He returned to the table, glancing over the pages he'd left. Not engineering level quality. But sufficient. Some of the finer circuitry escaped him, but he understood and replicated the designs well enough Tony could piece it together. More or less.

Something on the far side of the table caught his attention though. The pistol. He'd left it. Tony drummed his fingers on the table, glancing around the room again. A test? No. Too simple. He just hadn't needed it.

He smiled, shaking his head. He got up again, walking around. It was probably empty. A fake weapon used to gain his trust, if only momentarily. Tony picked it up, surprised to feel weight to it.

In the bare minimum it had a clip full of blanks.

Tony dropped the mag, checking. Full. But they had to be blanks. He loaded it, pulled the slide back and took off the safety. He aimed at the window and squeezed the trigger.

Glass shattered along with the sharp bark of the pistol as it clattered out of Tony's hands.

"What the-" Tony swore, dancing back a few steps as glass fragments tumbled out the window and littered the floor. "What kind of idiot!" He cut himself off again.

Damn that man! Who gave a loaded gun to over to someone when they went to talk to them!?

 **There we are. Story idea came from a tumblr post I saw. Bucky seems to have this habit of giving people he's talking to a weapon, especially if they're alone. Such as when he's in Hydra, he sets the pistol on the table, grip towards the Hydra agent. Someone else devised this whole theory about it. And naturally, I wanted to write a story about it. How he gives who ever he talks to a weapon of defense or anger. Because maybe he feels like he should be put down like a dog somedays, or like he deserves to be at their judgement.**

 **The other part of this came from Tony being a Canon-alcoholic. Both in the comics and movies. And naturally Steve has his mother-hen instincts everyone is just so proud and happy for.**


End file.
